end of the line…

Trials of Aunt GoNuts

Am down in Santa Fe, NM this week tending to my 83 yr old aunt, who after suffering a stroke earlier in the year is descending down the slippery path of losing her bag ‘o mental marbles.  Last night, I was accused of stealing her plunger.  This morning, I walked in to the house to find her oxygen line curling around the kitchen floor, with no site of the frail 90lb lady to be had.  My heart started racing.  I sloooowly walked to the end of the line where in theory it should connected ‘round her head, and *relief* there was no one attached.  Given this, we now had an amber alert in place, and the search for Miss Daisy was on.  I traced the long line back to the source and had the “not-so-pleasurable” experience of stumbling over a pair of her big-ole-bloomers that had  been hastily discarded to the floor nearby.  Apparently, there was a “defcon 5” emergency that required she dump all belongings (including oxygen: ie: life support) and hit the turbocharge on her walker to get to the can, stat.

Let’s just say it took some extra time to choke down breakfast this morning as I had to clear all thoughts from the mental chalkboard prior to eating.  Suppose I should be happy that I didn’t find her laying on the kitchen floor still attached to that oxygen line, but it was still like being the first to arrive at the scene of a toxic spill.